


and though you can't see me, by the offering pile is where you'll meet me.

by melbopo



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, F/F, First Meetings, Folklore, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-16 02:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13044996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melbopo/pseuds/melbopo
Summary: You didn't really think that humans are the only beings to inhabit this earth, did you?(a nymph!Maia x farmer!Isabelle farm folklore!au)





	and though you can't see me, by the offering pile is where you'll meet me.

**Author's Note:**

> written for [@pastelfrays on tumblr](https://pastelfrays.tumblr.com/) for Maia x Izzy SS 2017!  
> likes: aus !
> 
> wishing you a very happy holiday season that is as warm and loving as these science girlfriends!

Farmers: followers of the seasons, patterns, and _folklore_. They know to read more than just the earth, but the mythical beings that inhabit it as well, for more than just their success depends on it. These beings are finicky and easy to upset, their personalities as turmulent as the global warming induced severe weather. While the land overseers vary region to region, it is universally known to rotate plots of land every couple of years to replenish nutrients, to never follow the echoing sound of laughter late at night into the woods, and avoid planting on tumuli at all costs (especially if the farmer is white, for sickness follows those that attempt growth on the grounds of people killed by their potential ancestors).

While farmers in Mali heed all wisdom shared from strangers with antelope horns, those in Japan keep a pitcher of water by their kamidana to purify their mind, body, and spirit before asking for aid from their protectors. But for farmers that live near the woods in the United States, they look for a flowering plant that appears overnight at the end of the fall season, signifying a week before the first frost, as well as where to place the produce offering to secure next year’s protection and successful growing season. Some of the farmers call these beings borrowed names from other regions, passed down by word of mouth, like Demeter or Osiris, but this story focuses on a young one named Maia.

Maia isn’t given their own farm until they are two decades into this world, deemed fully knowledgeable to nourish and protect a plot of land on their own. The farm their parents and elders choose for them is one that they’re familiar with, having spent time there with an older being to learn everything about what their duty entails. When Maia was learning, the head of the farm was an old woman with dark brown skin and hair as white as winter snow. She was friendly and kind but lonely, her children long gone and off onto other careers, so she would spend her brisk fall nights, when dusk fell, at her offering pile. The elder explained that it was something she had been doing for the past three years. And even though she couldn’t quite see them _see them,_ beyond a glimmer of an outline that could be trick of the eye, she always claimed she could feel a warmth in the air when they were around the patch.

The woman liked to talk to them in soft tones about her plants, her neighbors, and her general concerns about the future of her farm, often saying that the younger generation just didn’t seem as interested in farming and that she was afraid a conglomerate agriculture company would take over the area if she didn’t find a replacement. Even at just sixteen years of age, Maia’s heart felt heavy at her words, at her fear of something that she worked so hard for no longer being cherished. On Maia’s last day with that older being, the woman appeared that night around the same time she always did, but with a lighter step in her walk and a warm smile on her face. She said that she had met a girl, a _teenager_ , at the farmer’s market, who really showed an interest in her stand, and that she had a feeling, deep in her heart, that this girl could be the one she was looking for all along to take over for her. Her excitement made Maia’s heart light when they left that farm that day, thinking to themselves that, as long as there are people who work the earth, their kind of guardians will survive.

When Maia returns to the farm after four human years away, they are sad that the old woman’s face is not the one they see, but rather a younger woman around their age, with hair as dark as a raven’s feather and skin the color of a light brown doe, with eyes to match. They bare no familial evidence of the older woman and Maia fears that she was never able to find someone to take over her farm, that this person does not know the price of inhabiting the land from the beings and shouldn’t be trusted. A part of Maia is looking forward to the havoc they can wreck on the farm if they fail to follow through with their side of the bargain, in name of both the spirits and the kind old woman.

As the end of fall draws to a close and the first frost is on the horizon, in Maia’s protector form, a massive wolf-like creature with five pupil-less watchful eyes, whose shoulders are as tall as a moose’s when on all fours, chooses the offering pile’s location. They touch their silvery gray white snout to a portion of earth right on the edge of the farm, near the woods, and a series of daisies immediately appear on the spot, twenty two buds in total. Daisies are the easiest flower to call forth from the ground, but also the easiest for humans to overlook as out of the ordinary and discern as a warning.

A week later, when Maia returns to the fully bloomed daisies to see if this stranger has made the adequate offering, they are surprised to find the familiar face of the woman waiting there by squashes of varying types. As Maia approaches, the woman’s face turns in their direction and tilts her head to the side, her eyes trying to focus on something that she can’t _really_ see. She smiles warmly, like greeting an old friend. “Isabelle really is doing wonders on the farm. I still can’t believe that after graduating early, she took to farming so well.”

And just like that, the woman continues talking to Maia, just like they remember from those nights years ago. She tells them all about her son and his husband, who she now lives with in the city, but that Isabelle welcomes her whenever she wants to stop by and share the latest family gossip. Maia lays down, silently devouring two of the butternut squashes from the pile as they listen to the woman’s voice while the sun fully sets. Night has only just fallen when the stranger, _Isabelle_ , walks up to the woman with an big woven blanket draped over one arm and something steaming out of a mug in the other hand. Isabelle offers both to the woman. “I don’t want you to catch a cold out here.”

Isabelle’s eyes look to the squash pile, clearly doing a quick count and smiling to herself when she notices the missing squash. She mutters to herself, “Hmmm butternut squash is their favorite - I’ll keep that in mind.”

Her eyes flicker over to where Maia lays, just on the outskirts of the woods - their home. And, for a moment, Maia swears that Isabelle can see them, but her eyes pass back over to the older woman as she thanks her for the tea.

Every night that follows, the older woman greets Maia at the offering and talks while the sunsets for about an hour, before Isabelle comes to bring her tea and a blanket. It’s nice to have someone talk to about mundane things and Maia is sad when they finish the pile, for that means the end of these nights, too. The old woman must be sad, too, for her smile isn’t as bright as usual and, when she leaves, she says that she looks forward to talking to them again next year.

Maia enjoys being a protector, takes joy in scaring away any animals foolish enough to cross their land. They walk up and down the rows of vegetables when they are almost ready to be harvested, leaving a trail of riper, sweeter, and more vibrant plants and produce in their path.

When the following fall comes, Maia chooses a spot for the offering close to the trees again, just in case, but this time they pull forth a lilac bush from the ground with twenty six buds. The lilacs remind Maia of the bush that Isabelle planted over the summer near the mailbox at the end of the driveway to the farm. Once the flowers bloom, Maia returns to the old woman, already wearing the blanket, for this night is already much cooler than usual, and a pile of twenty six squash, mostly comprised of butternut squash. Maia can’t help their wolfish grin at the sight, pleased that their favorite food is the most plentiful one. They eat three that night while they listen to the latest tales from the old woman.

Over the years, Maia’s trust in Isabelle grows, slowly moving the offering pile further and further from the woods so it can be closer to the produce itself. They experiment with pulling different types of flowers from the ground, trying to find which ones might be Isabelle’s favorite, since she knows Maia’s favorite food, pleased when they find that the peach roses make Isabelle smile every time she walks by them.

On the fourth human year as Isabelle’s protector, Maia returns to their bloomed rose bush and a cold feeling washes over them when there is no one there to greet them. Maia isn’t exactly sure how to explain the feeling that overcomes them; they had started to look forward to this week every year for their conversations. Maia is debating just taking an offering to eat in the woods in solitude to distance themselves from the pain, but then Isabelle appears, wrapped in the blanket and a mug in her hands. Her eyes are red and puffy, like she’s been crying. She stops in front of the pile, her eyes skirting over to where Maia stands frozen. Instead of her eyes skirting over them, they linger. “I really thought I had mourned her fully when she passed but I didn’t realize how hard this would be without her. It feels like losing her all over again because she’s not here to share this moment with me.”

Isabelle adjusts the cup in her hands. “I know my stories are not as good as hers, but do you mind if I talk to you just the same?”

Maia wants so badly to reassure her, tell her yes, that it is okay, but they can’t - not in this form. Isabelle sighs, fresh tears falling down her cheeks, “God, I miss her so much. She wasn’t even my grandmother but she was _like_ family to me - no she was _better_ than family to me. She was the only one, besides my brothers, who supported me when I wanted to go into farming instead of becoming a lawyer or a doctor.”

Maia lays down onto the dirt as they begin to eat their squash, offering a silent, supportive ear to Isabelle as she talks and trying to emit as much comfort as possible into the atmosphere to tell her that she is heard and not alone.

Isabelle comes out every night for the next week and talks to Maia until the pile is gone, but Maia starts to follow her around in the fields as she takes care of her plants, fixes broken fences and sets up a new drying tent. Isabelle seems to be able to tell that Maia is there too, for sometimes she smiles in their general direction or sings softly under breath as they work. Maia finds themselves slowly falling in love with Isabelle, wishing that they could do more than just protect her and the land, wanting to sing with her, to talk with her, for her to actually _see_ them. It’s unrealistic, both of them from two different worlds, so Maia just shows their affection by being a comforting presence and an extraordinary protector.

Maia returns to the woods after finishing the last squash of their offering for their fifth human year as Isabelle’s guardian like they do every night, but this time, three fellow beings in their wolf-like forms stand at the tree line. Maia pauses, tilting their head in confusion, asking, “What do you want?”

The being in the middle steps forward. “It’s been five years. Time to rotate assignments - you are being moved to the other side of the forest.”

Maia narrows their eyes. “What? No. I don’t want to leave here.”

“You don’t have a choice. This is a safety precaution and you of all people should know why,” the middle one responds, sounding both condescending and like there is no room for argument in their words.

“Who is going to take my place then?”

“No one. There isn’t anyone else available or experienced right now to take over this land, so it will become unprotected.”

Maia paws at the ground in anger at the thought of not just leaving Isabelle but also leaving Isabelle completely unprotected and _alone_. They crouch low to the ground to plant themselves firmly in place. They raise their lip in a snarl. “Then absolutely not. I refuse to leave.”

“Bring it up with the elders, then - they won’t take it kindly,” another being answers with an eye roll, as if Maia is being unreasonable.

“I will then.” Maia growls as they take off into the woods, slipping quickly between the gathered beings and running hard for where their parents reside with the elders, in the heart of the forest.

Maia slides effortlessly into the clearing in the center of the forest, barely winded from their run. It looks like a normal open space in the woods with older, gnarly grown trees along the perimeter. They walk up to one tree with a trunk at least three feet in diameter. “I refuse to give up protecting my land.”

Suddenly, the tree moves as it comes to life, a silvery white outline steps from it. They look like a human but stretched out to about the height of the old tree with long limbs and a tightly curled afro that resembles the outline of the leafy canopy on top.

“Maia, you must.” Maia’s father responds. A similar white outline steps out from another tree. Maia’s mother reminds them, “Do you not remember what happened to your brother? How the humans lured them in, earning their trust before betraying them and killing them? Do you think these rules are in place for anything more than your protection?”

“Of course I remember! We all felt that loss.”

Another being comes forth from a different tree. “And some of us still feel that loss Maia.”

“You think I don’t feel a hole in my chest every day since that incident, father?” Maia says, pain in their voice as they turn to address their other father.

“Then why don’t you see that this is for your own good! For the protection of our people! Humans are selfish and cruel - only ever looking out for their own interests, never each other or the earth’s or the animals and especially not ours,” says a fourth voice, an elder, from where they rest in their tree.

Maia’s mind flashes to images of Isabelle talking about her latest projects with the local community garden or singing in Spanish as she weeds her rows of swiss chard. And while Maia understands that the elders mean well, they are letting fear rule them. Maia knows in their heart that not all humans are like that - that _Isabelle_ isn’t like that.

“You are wrong. Sure, some humans hide their wicked intentions, but not all are like that. And aren’t we meant to love and protect those who aren’t, those who work the land with care and respect?”

“Love? You think that humans are worthy of our love? That they would love us instead of fear us if they truly met us? You are naive and foolish, sapling,” Maia’s mother responds.

“I know that they would. I know that the human on my land cares for me.”

“Do they care for _you,_ though, or the safety you bring them, or is it out of fear of our retribution?” the elder counters, everyone’s mind going to the humans responsible for the death of their brother, driven off their land when the soil no longer retained water, causing all their crops to dry up, and the youngest children in the family becoming mysteriously, deadly ill in the following weeks.

“Regardless, I refuse to leave my land unprotected - I am needed there. You will have to drag me off of it,” Maia threatens, bringing the conversation back to the reason they are here.

There is a lengthy pause, all the hairs on Maia’s body standing up at attention as magic fizzles in the air. They aren’t sure what is about to happen but they have a bad gut feeling. They turn and start running back in the direction they came. As they pass out of the clearing they hear their mother say, “Well, if you refuse to follow our rules, you will learn how dangerous it is to live with humans.”

Suddenly, a white light flashes before Maia’s eyes and the ground disappears from below them, they are free falling through the woods. Their whole body suddenly erupts in pain so consuming and hot that it feels like they are burning from the inside, out. They wonder if this is what it feels like to die. At that fear, their mind asks themselves if they made their love clear to Isabelle and they hope their death won’t hurt her quite as deeply as the old woman’s did. It’s Maia’s last thought before passing out from the pain.

Something, somewhere is calling to Maia, rousing them from a dreamless sleep. The noise is joined with shaking, startling Maia awake because it feels like hands are on them but they have never been touched by hands before. Maia opens their eyes immediately, looking down to find themselves surrounded by snow. When did it snow? How long have they been in the woods? They move slightly but their body feels… off, it feels _unfamiliar._ They start shivering from… from being too _cold,_ something they have never experienced before. Their teeth begin to chatter and they realize that they are no longer in their protector form, running their tongue along their much flatter teeth. Finally they look to their body, trying to make sense of all these sensations they feel.

Maia raises their arms into their line of sight, surprised at the sight of their jointed human fingers, as beautifully brown as the bark of a chestnut tree, flexing and stretching under their command. They look further past their hands to their bare human legs, covered in scrapes and blood, contrasting against the snow. Maia looks closer at their wounds, curious, for they were unaware they could even _bleed_. Their brain, at the acknowledgement of their limbs, floods with the pain, from both their injuries and being naked in the snow without any protection, causing them to cry out in agony.

The voices that woke them up are even louder now, as if right in their ear, and Maia turns their head slowly towards the sound, catching a glimpse in the corner of their eye of their tight black curls that remind them of their parents’ natural form. A wave of relief floods Maia at the face that greets them and they can’t help the smile that spreads across their lips. The relief dims down their fight or flight response endorphins, allowing them to pass back out from the overload of pain sensory information. For Maia knows, they are safe as long as they are under Isabelle’s care.

**Author's Note:**

> hope that you enjoyed this mythical mizzy!au as much as I enjoyed writing it! I'm even thinking about continuing it and would love to know what you think in the comments!
> 
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
